Commission for  thelostone In which I shamelessly project AB fetish stuff onto a now more or less over meme game. That's right, I'm late to the party but I came :P Enjoy the diapering.

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Story Text: (FA formatting is crap. Download to read it the way it was meant to be read.)
Freddy Defanged:
Freddy Defanged: Commission for Thelostone
“Oh, and… uh, the characters here get a bit quirky at night. Nobody ever turns them off, something about the servos locking up if they aren’t active for too long. You know, whatever, no problem right? Well, uh, here’s what you need to know, really…” The voice on the short wave recorder stammered for a few moments, coughed, then continued, “If the bots see you around after hours… Well, their programming would interpret you as… well, as a kid. You know, the kind that usually come here for parties and stuff? Well, anyway, just don’t let them see you and you won’t have to worry about it, okay? Okay. Well, I’ll chat with you some more tomorrow… Uh, check those cameras, and remember to only close the doors when absolutely necessary, got it? Gotta conserve power, alright? Oh, and, uh, one more thing… Don’t leave the office. Whatever you do, DO NOT leave the office until morning. That isn’t a suggestion. Good luck.”
Mike hit the stop button on the recorder, sighing deeply in boredom and spun around in the chair, his poorly lit security office covered in posters, magazine articles, and newspaper prints from the Freddy Fazbear golden days, many years before. He checked his watch, wrapped around his masculine, furry forearm. It was five after twelve, and the mountain lion had nearly six hours to go before his shift ended. “Wonderful, I’m stuck in this crap-heap all night,” he rolled his eyes, putting his feet up on the desk, then glanced down at the tablet computer that connected to all the security cameras in the building. Most of them had little of interest to see, and some had none at all, but, as he glanced over the main stage, something caught his eye... The duck, or chicken, or whatever it was, Chico or Chica or whatever, it was gone… “The hell?” Mike said, scanning through the other security cameras more intently, more quickly. The hallways, the broken kitchen camera, the prop room, pirate cove… all of them were empty. Where was the duck…?
A bit unnerved, but nonetheless undeterred, Mike went back to reading one of the magazines he had thoughtfully brought with him to pass the time. What was it that the phone guy had said? The bots roam freely during the night, and might interpret you as a kid? The hell was that supposed to mean? Nevertheless, the lion’s tail twitched unconsciously behind him, anxious, so he checked the door lights and cameras. To his amazement, now two of them were gone! Bonnie, the big purple bunny, had left the stage as well, leaving just the idle bear standing still in his place on stage... but where had the other two gone?
A bit anxious, but mostly unconcerned, Mike glanced at the power meter on the tablet, along with the clock. 12:33 AM, 88%. “Lots of time, lots of power,” the mountain lion said with a shrug, wriggling a bit in his chair as he realized he had to go to the bathroom, and quite badly at that. At first he just ignored the urge, he was, after all, a fully grown lion. He could wait a few hours to use the bathroom. And what had the phone guy said? DO NOT leave the office. That isn’t a suggestion. “Please,” Mike said, rolling his eyes, “What’s there to be afraid of. A few greeter bots? What’s the worst they could do?” He stood suddenly, no longer caring whether he was seen or not, and glanced over the bathroom camera and the eastern corridors, just to be sure there weren’t any surprises in store for him, and locked the door on the left before glancing down either end of the hallway out the right hand door, and slowly walking out, down towards the restrooms. “Come on, Mike, be a man,” the lion growled to himself, growing increasingly paranoid about his predecessor’s cryptic advice, and glancing around every corner before continuing down towards the bathroom.
The newly enamored security guard even got to the restrooms without a hitch, and walked inside without a second thought, flexing his muscles proudly in the mirror, lit only by the dim emergency lights. Mike ran a mental calculation, figured there wouldn’t be any shortage of power if he turned the restroom lights on for just a minute or two, and flipped the switch at the corner of the long line of mirrors and hand sinks, instantly regretting doing so. Standing mere inches behind him, eight feet tall and wearing a bib that read Let’s Eat! In big, spirited letters, Was Chica, grinning down at him with a smile that was equal parts caring and playfulness.
All the lion’s muscles seized up at the sight of the giant chicken, and the inside legs of his pants suddenly went soggy and hot as his bladder unconsciously voided from fear. A shout rang out from his lips, and Mike tried to dash away, a puddle forming beneath his feet, but Chica was much, much quicker. The animatronic chicken reached out with her mechanical arms, faster than Mike could think, let alone react, and plucked him right up off the ground by his underarms as though the lion weighed no more than a toddler.
Mike kicked and screamed as he was lifted up to eye level with the smiling chicken, who dotingly said, “Well hello little one, how very cute you are!” The lion’s brown and black furred face turned bright red along his cheeks and nose, and he batted with his paws at his captor, but it did as much good as a baby hitting its mother. That’s all he was compared to this robot, in any case. A fussy toddler to be cooed at and doted over. It switched its grip over him, shouldering the soggy lion and groping the seat of his soaked pants with one hand. Mike yelped, but could do nothing to prevent it, “Well now, I think someone is in need of a diaper change! Then you can come meet Freddie and the others. I’m sure you’ll love them!”
“H-hey! Help! Get this crazy thing off of me!” The lion hollered, over and over again as he was carried towards the stage, where Freddie Fazbear and Bonnie the Bunny were standing in their usual spots, but peaked with interest as Chica came, carrying the squirming and fighting Mike over her shoulder.
“I found a precious little kitten in the restrooms,” Chica said, clucking playfully as she rejoined her companions, and bounced the soggy lion against her shoulder, “And she really needs a fresh diaper.”
“SHE?!” Mike said, jaw dropping, and fought all the harder against his mechanical captor, but it was all in vain. A few seconds later and Chica and Bonnie had pinned the uniformed feline to one of the party benches hand and foot, the giant purple rabbit holding him firm while Chica stripped off his soaked pants and underwear, then his shirt as well, leaving the overgrown kitten naked to the fur and totally exposed, his heart racing in panic and horror at what was being done to him. “N-no, NO! Stop it, I’m not a girl and I’m not a baby! Let go of me, you crazy machines! Let me g-MMMGHHHGG!” Mike was caught in mid-sentence as Chica, who had apparently grown tired of Mike’s thrashing and screaming, made a quick run over to the storeroom behind the stage, and returned with, among other things, a bright pink pacifier with an absurdly large bulb that she forced in between the lion’s jaws, gagging him and reducing him to mere grumbles and whines of protest, as opposed to proper screaming.
Bonnie used her free mechanical paw to keep Mike’s head pressed against the table, and his mouth firmly closed around the pacifier, his cheeks burning red with humiliation, and held his torso and belly flat against the laminated plastic below him, using her superhuman strength to bully the lion into a pose of submission. “Now now, kitten,” Bonnie said in her fake cheerful voice as Chica returned, baring a triple thick pink diaper with hearts and rainbow unicorns on the front panel, changing supplies, and a short pink sundress with a frilly bow right above the tail and lace accents around the neck, sash, poofy shoulders and hem. Mike was aghast, and his struggles and whining redoubled, even managing to get some halfway audible words past the massive bulb in his mouth, held there by the purple rabbit’s relentless grip.
Despite his squirming, Chica took up Mike’s hind paws, now stripped of shoes and socks, in one massive, powerful hand, and lifted him straight off the improvised changing table, taking the opportunity to slip the super thick diaper underneath him before lowering his bottom back down onto it and smiling, “Soon, we’ll have you all done up like a princess. Don’t you worry,” the animated mechanical chicken cooed down at him, seeming to take encouragement from Mike’s whimpers of shame and humiliation at being called a princess, but that was nothing when compared to the embarrassment he felt as Chica wiped down his urine smelling legs with a small handful of wet wipes, then got out a bottle of sweet-smelling baby powder and puffed some down onto his padded posterior. For all the squirming he could do, Mike was helpless to resist the sheer strength, size, and power of the mechanical beings. They had him by the ears and tail, and they knew it, both Bonnie and Chica cooing down at him with shameless, doting affection that he wouldn’t have been surprised to find in the person of an evil aunt.
Once they had had their fun taunting him, Bonnie continued to restrain Mike as Chica pulled the poofy thick padding up around his waist and gently, but firmly, taped it in place. “There we go,” the chicken said, leaning over to grin in the terrified and humiliated kitten’s face, “No more accidents. Now, let’s get you into your pretty little dress, shall we?” If it were possible, Mike would have been even less eager to go into the dress than he had been to go into the diaper. These things, these… automations, they thought he was a baby! And, as though that wasn’t bad enough, they were trying to make a baby GIRL out of him!
For the pitiful wage of four dollars an hour, Mike wasn’t getting paid anything like enough to deal with this kind of madness, and could only whimper in abject helplessness as Bonnie bent the lion upright, though kept him locked in place by her vice grip on his shoulders, and slowly but powerfully wriggled the poor security guard into the frilly pink dress, the hem of which wasn’t even nearly short enough to hide his girly pink diaper.
“D’awww, what a cute little girl!” Freddy Fazbear said, the first time he had spoken since Mike’s abduction at the hands of that wretched chicken, and his condescending tone only grew his shame at being dressed like that exponentially. “It’s your first birthday today, isn’t it princess?” The giant animatronic teddy bear with the top hat said, grinning his wide, fake smile at the girlified lion, though Mike was sure he saw something, something unusual in his eyes, like a tinge of sentient humanity in those unblinking, mechanical circles. But that was nonsense, of course. Machines couldn’t think, these… these things were just doing this to him because his damn employers thought it would be cheaper to pay a security guard peanuts, even going so far as to limit his use of electricity to meet a budget, than to actually properly fix the animals. Bonnie relieved the pressure against Mike’s muzzle, letting him move the pacifier about for the first time, and he legitimately considered spitting it out, though he could guess the consequences for such an action would be harsh indeed, more than likely. “I didn’t hear an answer,” Freddy continued, and Mike was taken aback to realize he actually expected –Was programmed to expect-, an answer… and he didn’t have one to give.
“Erm… yuth?” Mike stammered past the rubber bulb in his mouth, not even realizing what he had just agreed to until it was far too late. Without a moment’s hesitation, Freddy shouldered the squirming, wriggling, heavily diapered kitten, Mike flailing his legs behind him to no avail, and whining past his pacifier, equal parts terrified and humiliated. During his quick change and dressing, Bonnie the Bunny had dragged one of the extra-large highchairs from the storeroom and situated it in front of the stage. The mountain lion hadn’t seen it used, though it was probably intended for an older or larger child, as were the diaper and dress he’d been forced into, and was built with restraint as a key component. Older children were allowed to run freely about the pizzeria, but the younger ones, high-chair aged kids, had to be kept within arm’s reach of their parents for the whole duration of their stay, which meant child restraints on the restaurant’s equipment. Chica was nowhere to be found as the giant bear bot carried him over to the big, six foot high seat and dropped his heavily padded posterior into it, regardless of how much he wiggled or squirmed.
Bonnie wrapped her arms around him from behind, pinning the lion into the padded highchair as Freddy snapped the table down against his waist, the bar that went between his legs clicking into the chair below to keep him from sliding out that way. The mechanical rabbit released Mike, but he was no less immobile, only able to wiggle back and forth slightly, and, given that he was a little bit big for even the huge highchair, had no way to move forward or back, his belly pressed right up against the bench in front of him.
“Let’s eat!” Came Chica’s playful voice from the right side of the stage, and, craning his head around the bear and bunny, who insisted on standing to either side of him, Mike saw the chicken walking towards him, carrying a large, Freddy’s signature pizza in one hand and a whole chocolate cake in the other.
“Wha da fawk?” Mike said, squirming even more, and counted himself lucky that his pacifier slurred his words beyond recognition, else he would have surely incurred a punishment from his animatronic caretakers.
Chica set out a large paper plate with princess’s first birthday written around the edge, and stacked four slices of pizza onto it, half of the entire thing. Mike continued to wiggle and squirm, uncomfortable in the extreme, but his terror was starting to ebb down to mere anxiety. These bots could probably have ripped him in half if they got it into their heads, or worse, but so far they had only labeled him as a baby girl, diapered him, put him in a sissy dress, and now it looked like they were going to try and feed him cake and pizza… which, when he thought about it, sort of offset the fact that he was being force-fed it.
The animatronic chicken carried his plate over to him and set it down on the high-chair’s table, then reached over to the side of the booster seat and came back with a bright pink bib, identical to the one that Chica herself was wearing except smaller, made for a child, but it fit well enough even on the adult lion, who tried to pull away, but had nowhere to run as he was bibbed like the toddler these bots thought he was. With the protective plastic sheet covering most of his chest, and the smells of the fresh pizza in his nose, Mike’s stomach betrayed him, gurgling and growling, and actually managed to encourage Chica, who picked up a slice of pizza and stuck it right in his face, plucking out the lion’s pink, girly pacifier with her other hand. “Open wide, sweetie!” Chica cooed down at him, all the other animatronics watching from a few feet away, and the chicken sat there, waiting.
“N-no, stop, I don’t nee- Nnggh!” Mike exclaimed biting down instinctively as the pizza was stuffed into his mouth with no regard for his comfort or dignity, and managed to get most of the sauce all over his nose and face. To avoid choking, he obediently, though embarrassedly, chewed and swallowed, and submitted to being fed. He had, after all, been desperate for a job, ANY job, and had taken this low-end security duty out of an obligation to pay his rent. Food had been a lesser concern, and ramen noodles only got one so far. Despite having apparently been freshly cooked by a robot, the pizza was delicious, hot, and fresh, and took much of the edge off the fact that he was being fed by a rogue animatronic character designed to entertain kids. Mike was hungry at work, but Chica showed no signs of stopping after the four slices she had taken him, and, when he eventually shook his head, keeping his mouth clamped shut, Chica giggled to herself, and had Bonnie come over and tickle his naked toes with a small brush, probably gotten from the storeroom, and, without shoes or socks and no way to defend himself, the full bellied lion could only giggle hysterically for the two minutes of torture before Chica turned back and offered him one of the last few slices of pizza to eat. Groaning, his belly stuffed already, Mike reluctantly opened his mouth and continued to eat, his face and bib covered with lost bits of food and drops of sauce, and, eventually finished the entire thing, a full pizza intended for a party of four.
The greyish tan lion’s belly grumbled, overfull with pizza, and Bonnie approached him this time, carring a plastic nursing bottle full of white liquid. Milk, presumably.
“Oh you have got to be kidding m-“ Mike ought to learn to keep his mouth shut, as, for the third time that night, the animatronics took advantage of his opening his mouth to pop something, the nursing bulb of his baba in this case, past his lips and teeth and into his mouth. The lion whined, but couldn’t do anything to stop the much larger, much more powerful automaton. But that didn’t mean he was going to suckle, and he didn’t, simply holding the nipple in his mouth for a good minute or two before Bonnie finally caught on that he wasn’t actually drinking, and pushed the nipple deeper into his maw.
“This isn’t going anywhere until the bottle is empty,” Bonnie said, warm, but firm, and squeezed the bottle, sending a small jet of warmed milk into his mouth, the sweet fluid flowing over his tongue and engaging some age-old suckle reflex in the feline, who began promptly to suck. “There’s a good little baby girl,” the purple bunny cooed down at him, holding the bottle at a high angle to keep the milk flowing towards the bulb, and gave it another squeeze whenever Mike seemed like he might try to fight, or stop drinking. By the time he had drained the bottle, his belly even fuller now and bloated from the fatty milk, Mike gave an embarrassingly childish hiccup and wiggled in his highchair, knowing that begging was fruitless against these possessed machines. The lion groaned, his stuffed belly bulging out of his snug, pink, frilly dress and against the table in front of him, and eventually looked up to see the three performing robots, now on the stage in their normal lineup, and singing, fittingly for the occasion, however fictional, Happy Birthday, which set Mike blushing with old childhood memories of having the song sang to him as a child. It hadn’t been done for some years, now, and the lion couldn’t keep the red off his face. Not from embarrassment, mind you, but because the attention, for the first time in many years, felt good. His birthday had been months earlier, and yet somehow the song took him momentarily back to a mindset where he could safely enjoy the pleasant song.
When the trio had finished their performance, and saw the sissified lion blushing and wiggling in his high-chair, belly slightly less bulging now, Chica hopped back down off the stage and picked up the cake from the table, carefully carrying it over to Mike’s highchair table and setting it down atop it, one big candle sticking out of the top. “Happy birthday, sweetie,” Chica said, scratching the quickly regressing kitten behind the ears, “Blow out the candle and make a wish!” Full as he was, Mike wasn’t about to turn down free chocolate cake, and, slowly ebbing into his new role, tentatively blew out the one candle atop the baked delicacy, which the animatronic bird promptly took away to cut with a wire.
Chica returned a moment later carrying a new paper plate with his slice of cake on it. Mike was almost happy to see she had cut it respectably thin, meaning he wouldn’t have to stomach too much more food and potentially make himself sick. There was a plastic fork and knife, but, as before, Chica insisted on feeding him, but the lion was much less reluctant this time, opening his mouth for every bite of delicious, moist chocolate birthday cake.
“Such a good little girl!” Bonnie said, doting over him, and scratched the lion behind the ears again, cooing softly, “Would you like to go see Captain Foxy’s show? What am I saying, of course you would!” Without the loss of a moment, the purple rabbit unbuckled the diapered little lion sissy from his high-chair and lifted him out over his shoulder. Slowly getting used to being handled like a toddler, and feeling very small and helpless because of it, Mike didn’t squirm all that much as he was carried down the hallways towards pirate’s cove, an area that the lion knew had been discontinued some years earlier after a copy write infringement claim and court order, though didn’t know any of the details. The purple rabbit bounced him a little bit, walking down the hallways, which had somehow been lit up despite the restrictions on power usage after hours, and turned in to the pirate’s cove, ignoring the sign that read discontinued overtop of the door. Inside was a curtain, and a small sitting area, where Bonnie, Chica and Freddy sat in a line, seating the wiggling lion cub in the rabbit’s lap. “Oh Captain Foxy, you’ve got a visitor!”
“Arr, ya’ found me a wee lass, me sees!” Came a cartoonish piratical voice from behind the curtain, and Mike was startled to see an animatronic that he’d never encountered before. This one was extra tall, maybe eight feet or more, and dressed like some kind of child’s interpretation of what an anthropomorphic pirate fox would look like. He had an eye patch, a hard plastic hook in place of a right hand, and behind the curtain Mike could see a mural of a sailing galleon with a skull and crossbones emblem on the wall behind it. His diaper rustled embarrassingly as the lion wiggled uncomfortably, Bonnie bouncing him on her knee a bit to settle his nerves as the pirate fox, who was rather obviously excited to be performing for a child, jumped into a song and dance, “Oh, Do what you want ‘cus a pirate is free. You are a pirate! Yar-har fiddle dee-dee, being a pirate is alright for me. Do what you want ‘cus a pirate is free, you are a pirate!”
Mike couldn’t help but giggle at the ludicrously of his situation. He was diapered, stuffed full of food he wouldn’t normally be able to afford, and treated to an exhibition by animatronic robots that thought he was a toddler girl thanks to a programming error. If this wasn’t the most coincidentally absurd circumstance ever, Mike didn’t want to know what was.
Captain Foxy seemed to take encouragement from Mike’s laughter, and knelt down in front of him, the lion seeing that his suit was in disrepair in some places. So far as he knew, Pirate’s Cove hadn’t been in use for over a decade. Did that mean that this bot had just been sitting there that whole time? Doing nothing? Alone?
When the regressed lion finally came out of his giggle fit, still held snugly in Bonnie’s lap with two arms. Just one would have been more than enough to totally immobilize him, so clearly she was just using two for the sake of further embarrassing the poor little overgrown toddler. Foxy’s song had ended, and the rough looking pirate had walked over to Freddy in the corner, and the two were talking in hushed voices. Wait, are they talking to… each other?! No, no. That’s impossible. These things are machines, they run on preset programming… right?
Nevertheless, a few minutes passed in relative silence while Mike glanced around the room and tried to make out what the fox and bear were saying that they didn’t want him to hear. Alas, it was hopeless, but Mike did catch sight of a clock on the wall. If it was accurate, it was a bit past four in the morning. Chica had grabbed him up at one… where had three hours gone?
“Come on, princess,” Bonnie said suddenly, picking him up over one shoulder again as though he weighed as little as a toddler and bounced him a bit as Foxy and Freddy finished their conversation, and the whole lineup of animatronics headed back towards the main showroom, Bonnie carrying him up onto the stage where, of all things, a camera and chair had been set up. The purple rabbit handed him off to Freddy Fazbear, who carried the diapered lion cub over to the chair and sat down, holding a squirming Mike on his lap.
“Smile for the camera, princess,” Freddy said in his playful baritone, and began tickling Mike’s belly and sides with surprisingly agile and deft fingers, which sent the lion into yet another convulsive giggle fit. But, with the mechanical bear’s arm around his waist, there was nothing to do for it, and the camera flashed, catching the once adult, manly lion on film, now reduced to nothing more than a toddler girl in dress and stature, his frilly pink diaper perfectly visible from beneath the thin silky wisps of his snug, girly, candy colored dress.
Mike’s face was nearly as pink as his fluffy, padded posterior as Freddy hugged him close and had his picture taken with him, then stood and handed the helpless little cub off to the next animatronic, Bonnie, and the whole process repeated, with the purple bunny pressing her face against his cheek for the picture. Third was Chica, who, when Mike refused to smile for the camera, repeated the trick of tickling his vulnerable underbelly and sides to force his smile.
“Hmm, the camera’s not working,” Bonnie said, Chica still tickling the helpless, squirming cub’s belly and sides, Mike giggling his heart out and babbling for the chicken to stop while the rabbit and bear toyed with the camera. It had been over an hour since the lion had been force-fed the bottle of milk formula, and, not used to dairy in such quantities, had processed it in a hurry, and left Mike’s bladder aching and full. He had barely survived the first bout of tickling without losing control, but Chica was much more masterful at it than Freddy, and, a few minutes after she had started, heard her captive kitten whine as his bladder failed him, emptying into his already thick padding and discoloring the front. To make a bad situation worse, the camera flashed seconds after his accident finished, catching Mike, looking totally pathetic on Chica’s lap, diaper soaked, face the red of a summer sunset, totally aghast and humiliated by what had just been done to him.
“Arr, gimme the lass, it be my turn,” Captain Foxy said, clearly eager for his attention, and at least they had saved the least awful for last. He was still situated on the fox’s lap like a toddler, diaper and dress clearly visible, but the difference was that the pirate actually made an effort to not humiliate him, but that didn’t lessen the shame from what had just happened. Every step, every squirming wiggle that Mike made now that he was wet caused the great bulk of his diaper to squish and squelch, leaving his face bright red with humiliation. When the camera had flashed again, the grey and tan mountain lion wiggling on Foxy’s lap, there was nowhere to hide. Anyone who saw those pictures would know right away what he had done, how he had wet himself like the little girl he was dressed as, and until these made bots let him go, there was nothing he could do about it.
Foxy handed Mike back off to the brown bear animatronic, and all four of them gathered around him, some sitting, some standing, all making cute faces at the chubby bellied baby lion on the chair, who was honestly and truly babified, now simply smiling embarrassedly as the camera clicked one last time, conscious of the tickling it would likely cost him if he didn’t.
With the group picture taken, there was a few moments of silence before the whole cast of Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria went back into motion. Mike was handed from Freddy to Bonnie once again, Foxy turning off to the right to return to pirate’s cove, Freddy and Chica going back to their original place on stage, while Bonnie carried the helpless little toddler girl in her care back-stage, to where the prop room was. Despite all his wiggling and squirming, Mike was oblivious to where he was being taken, though it quickly became apparent that the prop room backstage was their destination. Inside was a surprisingly spacey area, filled with the neatly organized animatronics’ various costumes and heads, most of which were tucked into cubby holes. In the far back, near a curtained window through which Mike could see the first few beams of morning sunlight, was a long, tall-barred crib with girly pink blankets and a few frilly pillows.
Barely able to wiggle by this point, too exhausted from all that had happened to do much in the way of resistance, Matt was dropped down onto one of the thicker blankets, the purple rabbit above him reaching over to one of the cupboards and pulling out one of the Freddy Fazbear souvenir plushies that were occasionally given out to birthday boys or girls who scheduled parties at the pizzeria, and handing it down to the little baby girl in the crib, “This is for you, princess. Happy birthday, we hope you had fun.”
Mike whimpered a bit, but took the plushie as Bonnie produced another pacifier from somewhere and popped it into his mouth, the lion too tired and afraid by now to even contemplate resisting. He’d been in the giant animatronics’ clutches for almost five hours by this point, from what Mike could gather, and, in that time, he’d been reduced in stature from an independent adult male to a powerless baby girl, force-fed a bottle of milk, dressed like a sissy princess, and even forced into a birthday photo-shoot with the characters, the pictures from which would surely surface eventually if he didn’t find and destroy them before then.
The bots were supposed to power down again before morning, and Mike noticed Bonnie’s movements becoming increasingly slower as the sun crested the horizon, the purple rabbit slowly wrapping him up in a blanket until he was left immobile, wriggling in his bundle and suckling helplessly on the pacifier, occasionally whimpering a bit as his belly was poked, or his sides tickled.
“Good night, sweetie. We’re all looking forward to playing with you some more tomorrow night,” Bonnie said with a smile, pulling up the bars of Mike’s crib and leaving the store-room, leaving the lion bundled and, above all, exhausted. It was hot and cramped in the cocoon of swaddling, but was intensely comfortable to the feline, who quite enjoyed relaxing in the heat.
Under these conditions, it didn’t take more than a few minutes for Mike to doze, then pass out in his crinkling, soggy diaper, frilly dress and tight swaddling as the sun came up behind the curtain, and Bonnie returned to her place on stage, ready for a long day of entertaining little children.
***
Mike’s sleep was long, peaceful, and filled with pleasant dreams after the exciting, albeit humiliating first night on security duty, and, waking to find himself warm and snugly wrapped in blankets, the lion almost dismissed the entire experience as a dream, until he realized that the blankets were, in fact, the same ones Bonnie had wrapped him in that morning. His eyes fluttered open, the whole night’s humiliation coming back to him, and spat out the pacifier that he’d been compulsively suckling since he fell asleep.
Deeply rested, Mike blushed at the sight of the pink blankets, and squirmed a bit, kicking and wiggling until they unwound and he could crawl free, dismayed to find his diaper even wetter than it had been when he’d been put down for bed. The lion’s ears perked, hearing the familiar sounds of the Fazbear gang singing childish songs outside the half-closed storeroom door. According to the wall clock, he’d slept into the mid-afternoon, and, judging by the squeals of excited children outside, there was a birthday party being celebrated, and he was still dressed like a girl.
Groaning and whining, Mike flushed bright pink as he caught sight of himself in the mirror beyond the crib, all done up in the lacey pink princess dress which did nothing to hide his diaper, and the great red blush across his cheeks completed the image. Carelessly, the lion stripped off his dress and threw it on the crib mattress, wiggling the bars with his paws until it came down and he could step out, now dressed in nothing more concealing than a diaper.
Hoping nobody had noticed him swaddled there like that, he shut the door and glanced around for anything he could wear to hide the diaper, which he couldn’t properly ditch unless he wanted to go around a children’s restaurant in the nude, even if the soaked diaper wasn’t actually all that better. The lion was shocked to find, of all things, his security uniform and hat left neatly folded on a chair, along with a note, which he cast aside, scrambling for his normal clothes and shoes before he even considered reading it. The dark grey shirt fit fine, as did his security hat, but, lacking any undergarments or anywhere to disposes of his soggy pink pamper, Mike was forced to pull his pants on overtop of it, and the diaper bulged prominently in a way that no small child or parent of one could mistake, but it was better than nothing. Much better than nothing.
Finally, with a sigh, Mike got ready to make a dash for the front door, where he’d find a public bathroom or something to ditch the diaper and make his way home… then remembered the note, and picked it back up, reading over the crummy handwriting scribbled on it. It read as follows.
Hey, kid. I see you made it through your first night, and got acquainted with the bots… Yeah, they like making little girls out of the security guards. Don’t worry about it, though! Nobody ever gets hurt or anything, and remember that your contract has a minimum duration of five days, so… yeah. Learn from your mistakes, try not to get caught again, and I’ll see you again at 11:30 PM Tonight! Ciao.
-H.R Dept.